


Capitulation

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Vassalord
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shower Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Don’t,' Chris says, but that lacks any fire, too, and when Rayflo's fingers brush against his spine and drag along the damp skin he doesn’t speak again." Chris gets masochistic in the shower and Rayflo steps in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Capitulation

Chris likes showers. It’s one of the few times during his day when he can shut out some of the incessant guilt in his head; he can tip his chin down, and lean against the tiled wall, and let the too-hot water almost-blister against his skin and let the white noise of the water drown out even his own inner monologue, if only for a few minutes. It’s all waiting for him as soon as he steps out, of course; the water shuts off and the self-loathing picks up, and as the burn of heat fades into an ache on his skin the sense of purification fades too, until there’s just the weight of his immoral form wrapped around his blood and bones again. Still. It’s a respite, if only a temporary one, and the relief of that is immeasurable.

The sanctity of the moment is such that when Chris hears the sound of the door opening, he doesn’t even snap at the intruder. He knows who it is, who it  _always_  is, and when he says “Go away, Rayflo,” the words are liquid-calm and drained of all feelings before they leave his mouth.

The vampire doesn’t even pause. Chris can hear his feet hitting the damp tile underfoot as he approaches even before the other man’s sultry-heavy voice cuts past the sound of the water. “Shooing me out of my own house, Cherry?” Chris can hear the pout, doesn’t need to look up to see the expression behind his eyelids. “How utterly heartless of you.”

“Don’t,” Chris says, but that lacks any fire, too, and when fingers brush against his spine and drag along the damp skin he doesn’t speak again, although he doesn’t move in response either.

“And when you’re at your best here,” Rayflo goes on. Chris doesn’t respond, tries to ignore the vampire’s voice behind the pain of the water on his closed eyelids and the faint sound of droplets hitting the floor. “All wet and shining.” There is a pause. “And naked, too, of course. That’s an advantage itself.” The fingers have shifted; now there’s a hand against Chris’s hip, holding gently while fingertips drag promises over his skin. Chris breathes out, takes in a breath of steam-heavy air, and still doesn’t speak.

“You’re burning.” There’s no judgment in the words. Rayflo knows what it’s like, or at least he remembers what Chris has told him in moments of weakness. He’s too much of a masochist himself to judge the other man, anyway. The touch against Chris’s over-sensitive skin aches like Rayflo’s fingers are bringing the pain of the excess heat to the surface.

The hand moves from his skin to his hair, pulling the wet strands back from the blond’s forehead. Chris doesn’t open his eyes or his mouth. The prickle of his body’s response to Rayflo’s touch is indistinguishable from the temperature of the water. It’s a small mercy.

“Come back here, Cherry.” Rayflo tugs at his shoulder, persuading rather than forceful. He could make it a demand, if he wanted, but he never does. If it were an order Chris would resist, but the gentle touch and the relaxation of the water leave him without the strength to fight back. He turns so the water hits his back instead of his chest, and after a moment he opens his eyes as slowly as he moved.

Rayflo is watching his face, eyes inhumanly black and hair drinking in the light around them. It looks the darker for the contrast with his skin, abandoned by sunlight so long ago even the temperature of the water can’t raise blood under it’s surface. He looks like he’s made of porcelain, like some sort of statue to temptation, so when he blinks and steps forward the movement is startling.

“Cherry.” Rayflo’s voice drags the syllables long and sultry over his tongue, and when he runs his fingertips down the lines of Chris’s ribcage the blond tips his head back and  _wills_  himself to not react. It’s never worked before, so he’s not particularly surprised when it doesn’t work this time. All the blood in him is Rayflo’s anyway; it shouldn’t be startling that it follows the vampire’s touch, rises to his purring voice.

It still makes Chris flinch. It’s like his body’s betraying his mind, or at least the better part of his mind. If he’s honest with himself there’s another part too, usually drowned out but never  _gone_ , not really, that is wailing for Rayflo’s touch and Rayflo’s affection all the time.  _That_  part is telling him to speak, to beg for more, to reach out and pull Rayflo in against his rising erection, so he can’t trust his tongue to obey him. He shuts his mouth instead, so when his throat goes tight on a moan the sound is nearly lost to the noise of the water.

It doesn’t matter. Rayflo still hears it, his supernatural hearing betraying Chris’s attempts at subterfuge, and then he’s  _there_ , pressed up hard against the blond’s skin so Chris doesn’t even have to reach out to pull him tighter. The water hits Rayflo instead of Chris, like the vampire is protecting the blond from the burn, and Chris’s blood lights up with heat the water never managed to impart.

“Rayflo,” he manages to get out, but he can’t muster a rejection in words or actions, and Rayflo seems to take the strain in his voice as invitation. He leans in with a purr to kiss Chris’s collarbone, and Chris has to shut his eyes to fight the seduction inherent in watching Rayflo’s mouth hot on his body.

He resists the kiss. Chris keeps his hands limp at his sides and his body still against the wall of the shower, even when Rayflo slicks his tongue hard over his chest, even when he can feel the vampire smiling in delight at the unusual passivity he is offering. He resists the way Rayflo sighs against him, the shift of Rayflo grinding his hips hard against his leg. He can resist Rayflo. He’s been doing that for years, he has as much experience as anyone in this.

He doesn’t resist the touch.

Rayflo’s fingers ghost over his shoulders, waist, hips, legs, and that’s all tolerable, holding back from responding  _hurts_  under Chris’s skin worse than the burn of the water but he can  _do_  it, he is  _strong_  enough. But then fingers brush against his irresistible erection, and Chris throws his head back against the wall and groans through his teeth, and Rayflo laughs in delight and closes his hand entirely around Chris’s length, and that, finally, is what does it.

His hands come up against Rayflo’s shoulders, and his feet come under him to support his weight, and when he pushes back his mouth is against the vampire’s and Rayflo goes so fast they both nearly fall before hitting the other wall. Rayflo’s hold comes loose, and his arms wrap around Chris’s neck, and he exhales hard and surprised against the blond’s cheek.

“ _Cherry_ ,” he says, and the word is heavy with delighted shock, and Chris shuts his eyes and takes a sobbing breath against Rayflo’s shoulder before he sets his teeth into the other’s skin and bites down. It’s not from hunger; he won’t need more blood for days, a week if he’s careful. But when the taste hits his tongue it drowns his guilt, drags his immortal instincts to the surface, and when he opens his eyes everything is coated in a halo of red. Rayflo glows in the light, like some sort of inverted angel outlined in blood instead of light, and when he smiles Chris growls and kisses him, bites down on the other vampire’s lip so more of that flavor drowns the fiery want on his tongue. Rayflo tips his head back, pulling against Chris’s hold on him, and that  _has_  to hurt but the only sound Chris hears from the other man is a groan with nothing but desire in it.

When he comes back up he’s breathing hard, eyes tracking and catching on the red at Rayflo’s lip and the trickle of water-diluted blood from his throat, and Rayflo is watching him with his chin tipped down and moisture catching heavy on his eyelashes. Chris sets his hands against Rayflo’s face to hold him still so he can lick the collected damp off the feathery shadow of lashes, and when Rayflo shudders and tips his head back up with a smile he comes in to kiss the other’s cheekbone instead of his mouth. When he pulls away there’s a splash of red there, too, holding the impression of lips for a moment before the humidity smears and drips it down Rayflo’s cheek.

Rayflo blinks at him, still smiling slow with blood trickling from the bite in his lip. It doesn’t make sense that Chris should be choking back tears while Rayflo is the one bleeding, but it’s never made sense, and there is some comfort in the familiarity if nothing else. Rayflo curls his arms tight around Chris’s neck and that’s all the warning the blond gets before the other’s legs are coming up to wind around his waist. The extra weight makes him fall forward the short distance to the wall at Rayflo’s back, but when they hit Rayflo groans in a way that makes Chris flush, embarrassed even with Rayflo’s blood in his throat and their bodies hard against each other.

“Cherry,” Rayflo says, drawing it out into a sing-song lilt, and his fingers come up from the other’s neck to trail slow through the blond’s hair, and Chris has to shut his eyes. The other vampire shifts his angle and Chris stays very still and lets him, holds their combined weight up while Rayflo’s legs drag against his waist and the other man’s fingers drag against his scalp, and even though he  _knows_  what Rayflo’s doing he can’t stop it. He always gives in, eventually, before he picks the pieces back up and tells himself it won’t happen again.

It’s easier to pretend that he’s passive when he lets Rayflo take the initiative, easier to ignore the still-bleeding bite at the other’s neck and the slippery drag of skin-on-skin, and when Rayflo shifts and slides himself down onto Chris’s length it’s easier to pretend that it’s Rayflo starting things instead of Chris letting him. Rayflo  _did_  plan this, at least, given how easily his body opens up to the intrusion, but it’s a thin veneer of justification that cracks when Chris groans and thrusts up harder, farther, faster than Rayflo is coming down.

Rayflo groans and throws his head back against the wall, his fingers clutching tighter in Chris’s hair, and Chris whimpers but he can’t  _stop_ , now. Even the half-formed flinch away from the physical  _pleasure_  uncoiling under his skin sounds like encouragement,  _feels_  like encouragement in his own ears, and when he rocks Rayflo back against the wall it’s full capitulation and they both know it. Rayflo’s hold on his hair goes gentle, his fingers come down to trail over the blond’s shoulders, and when the vampire speaks he says “Chris,” very softly, instead of his more usual diminutive.

Chris opens his mouth to respond but can’t manage anything beyond a moan, pulled up from the feel of Rayflo hot and tight and  _perfect_  around him, and he sounds like his Master instead of himself, the sound is so utterly unabashed in this brief moment of hazy surrender. Rayflo is arching up against him, effecting more actual movement than all of Chris’s own desperate shifts against the wall, and when Chris bites down on the other’s neck again he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until the heat of blood spills over his tongue and Rayflo sighs in satisfaction.

They can’t get much movement at this angle, really, with Rayflo fighting gravity and Chris with nothing to push against, but it doesn’t take much either. It never does, by the time Chris is desperate enough to give in to the other, and besides  _this_  is particularly rare, having Rayflo’s body around him instead of the other’s mouth or fingers. When Rayflo whimpers with unusual softness and rocks up to press his own erection against Chris’s stomach, the blond shuts his eyes, and drops his mouth to press painlessly against the wet of Rayflo’s shoulder, and comes with a shudder that nearly drops them both to the floor. He manages to keep his footing, barely, and Rayflo laughs warm against his ear before untangling his legs from the other’s waist and taking his own weight.

“Cherry,” he says again, trailing his fingers through Chris’s hair once more, and Chris looks away from the affection all across Rayflo’s face and drops to his knees instead. He half-expects a protest at this retreat, and Rayflo does sigh in resignation, but Chris is betting on distraction winning out. When he wraps his mouth around the other’s length the sigh turns into a groan, and whatever vocalized protest Rayflo might have made is lost. Chris dips his head down farther, and Rayflo rocks his hips up to meet him, and it’s  _so_  easy to lose track of his thoughts that for a few minutes Chris does. He lets his eyes go unfocused on the pale wash of skin in front of him, and holds Rayflo’s hips steady, and lets the warmth of the water against his shoulders and the warmth of Rayflo on his tongue meld until he thinks he might actually be warm again himself.

Rayflo goes languid against the wall of the shower when he comes over Chris’s tongue, and Chris swallows the bitter and shuts his eyes and lets the sound of Rayflo’s satisfied groan etch itself into his memory. When he pulls back Rayflo makes a whimpering noise in the back of his throat, and his hands go tight on blond hair, and Chris has to tuck his head against the other’s hip so Rayflo won’t see the affection in the smile he can’t hold back.

“Cherry,” Rayflo says after a moment, and Chris swallows back the smile and tips his head up look up at Rayflo’s face. The other is looking down at him, his hair falling down around his face and shoulders so his face is soft in shadow, and his smile has all the emotion Chris has locked down from his own face.

“Master,” Chris says, and the word comes out steady and calm but Rayflo’s eyes go liquid and his mouth goes soft with tenderness.

“The water’s going cold,” is all he says, though, and he’s right. The spray is just warm now instead of hot, comforting against Chris’s shoulders and not searing. Chris stares at Rayflo for a moment, trying to form some sort of response, and finally starts to laugh helplessly. He brings his face back in to hide his reaction against Rayflo’s skin and the sound starts to veer dangerously close to tears, but he can  _feel_  Rayflo’s smile in the touch of fingers in his hair, and he doesn’t pull away, even as the water goes cool and then cold around them.


End file.
